


Making You A Personal Day

by Anonymous



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The boys want to try out all sorts of things on an unwilling Paul McCartney.Will try to update often.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67
Collections: Anonymous





	1. 1

Paul watched as his bandmates walked off stage, leaving him to wave off the audience that stood disappointingly quiet after the band's final performance. 

He found them talking quietly amongst themselves, the conversation they were having dying down as soon as Paul stepped into the small room.

"What was that all about, lads?" Paul questioned, referring to the quick escape from the stage the other three had pulled off. 

"Jus' tired, is all." John answered immediately, with a hint of something in his eye Paul couldn't quite understand. "Don't know how you haven't collapsed after all that. It's been a while since we've _relaxed_ , y'know?"

Paul sighed, taking a seat next to dear John. "What? Were you just expecting all this music business to be easy? Think we'll be touring by tomorrow morning and getting loads of birds?"

Paul let out a soft laugh and set his bass down, playing with the strings as he continued. 

"You've got to work hard for this, y'know? And above all this, you're tired over our third _measly_ performance that didn't even _go_ well?"

"Paul.."

"You've got to be more hardworking, all of you lads. It's not every day we get gigs like thi-"

"PAUL!"

Said Paul and his mouth stopped moving as he looked over at John, who gave out a small breathy laugh and shook his head.

"Oh, Paul! I didn't mean it like that. What I meant to say is, we're all _very_ tired and would really, _really_ like to go out right now and go find us some pretty birds." John's thick brows wiggle suggestively and Paul groaned in annoyance as the other two laughed it off. 

"Oh come on, Paul. Why don't you come and join us, eh? Birds 'round here aren't half bad." Ringo said as George agreed with him.

Paul thought for a minute and sighed in defeat, knowing that this would be the highlight of his night if it went at all good. _Well, at least it can't be worse than today's performance.._

"C'mon, Paulie! Les go, then!" John stood up quick, startling McCartney and jolting himself up as well. 

-_-_-__--__-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

  
  
  


Much to Paul's surprise (and disappointment), John had run off with George in a hurried pace to 'meet some birds'. Paul wouldn't be shocked if he found out they were only going to cause trouble, but it wasn't his problem right now. At the moment, he needed to get laid and the strain in his leather pants weren't helping as much as the pretty birds dancing to rock n roll on the dance floor. 

He looked over at his mate Ringo, who fidgeted with his rings anxiously. 

"What's the matter with you, Ritchie?"

Ringo looked up at Paul, a smile spreading firmly on his face. "Just thinkin' 'bout birds is all."

Paul nodded and continued to eye the girls, gaze lowering to their very revealing chests. 

"What's your favorite part of taking a bird?" 

Paul turned to Ringo, who was eyeing the birds he was before. 

"What… What kind of question is that, you git?!" 

"Ey, ey, I'm just tryna be more social, is all. So what is it?" 

His gaze lowered, face red and hands tapping his thighs. "Erm, I guess… when they blow me? Geez, you fucking git. Don't ask me that ever again.."

Ringo only laughed.

"I like it when she squeezes around me cock and I get to spill inside her." He said, with a rather lustful expression that made Paul do a vomiting face, causing Ringo to laugh yet again.

"I can't believe you sometimes, y'know? How do I even know you, you bloody horny bastard." 

They both shared a laugh and Paul played with a loose thread on his jacket as the laughter died down.

"Want something to drink, love?" Ringo asked as he stood up, the squeak of his chair rattling in Paul's head. 

"Just a beer, Rings." His friend nodded and off he went to the bar, disappearing into the small crowd formed over some drunk git getting hammered.

He watched the dancing people and didn't even notice Ringo had come back with their drinks. Paul watched in anticipation as his friend popped open the cap with a small device on his keys and offered the bottle to Paul.

He reached for it but Ringo pulled it back playfully. 

"Oh, come off it, Rings!"

"Say it and she's all yours."

"Go to hell, Ritchie."

"C'mon." He waved the bottle and brought it close to his lips to have a sip, making Paul groan and rolls his eyes as he lowered his head on the table.

He mumbled something unintelligible to Ringo.

"Speak up, lo-"

"Pretty please! Give me my fucking drink please!?" Paul shouted and snatched the bottle from Ringo's grip, who only cackled at his outburst.

"You're such an arsehole, you know that?"

Ringo only shrugged and took a swig from his own beer bottle. Paul did the same and grimaced.

Is this how beer always tasted?

He didn't care at the moment. He just wanted to enjoy his drink. He took another sip.

And another.

And another.

And yet another.

By the time he even realized it, he had already finished it. His thoughts clouded over, but he wasn't completely wasted. He would need 3 or more for that to set in. Still, he felt dizzy and horrible.

"Hey, Rings. I think we need to go home now.. I don't feel half good.."

This worried his friend and he was led out of the establishment, heading straight to his house.

No, where was he going?

"Ritchieee.. me house is that way, y'know?" He slurred over his words and pointed behind them.

"Don't worry, you can crash at my place, love." Ringo commented sternly.

That's odd. Ringo lives down the street, and this was the opposite end of it. Paul studied and hung loosely onto him as he gave up on reading him. He could barely talk! Much less anything!

They stopped as Ringo pulled open a door to an unfamiliar building. It was dirty and drab inside, and Paul grunted as he tried to stand on his own, a little disoriented, but now alert. 

They passed a fat woman sitting at the front desk, who kept her eyes glued to a fashion magazine and blew puffs of smoke out her nose when she read something comical.

Ringo pulled Paul into an elevator and hit the button clumsily. It's really hard when you're carrying someone..

After what seemed like minutes, which really was only 8 seconds, the elevator dinged and the doors opened, leading to a hall of doors that made Paul's head spin. 

"What is this place, Rings?" Paul asked quietly, getting no answer. 

"Where are you taking me?" This time, his voice was more firm and he stopped walking, making Ringo drag him along.

"Let go of me, you bastard! Where are you taking me?!" He had enough and tossed Ringo off of himself, staggering to the wall for support, but he still fell on his arse.

And suddenly, Ringo got ahold of his hair and yanked him through one of the doors. He yelped in pain and scratched at his hands, trying to pull himself away, but Ringo was far too strong. 

The door closed behind them and Paul was thrown onto the floor, hearing a _click_. He locked the door.

"What the fuck was that, you fucking arsehole?! Are you out of ya fucking mind!?" 

"Shut up if ya know what's good for ya." Ringo growled, a threatening aura suddenly setting around them. Paul immediately quieted, but he still stood up, though keeping a careful eye on Ringo. It was a bit dark, but he could still see his rings glimmering in the light that poured through the window.

"What is this place?" Paul finally asked after a long silence, arms crossed against his chest in discomfort.

"Is me place."

"Ringo, I'm not stupid." Paul retorted. "I've very well seen the Motel sign down there, and your place is down the road near my house."

"Quiet."

"No! Take me home, you arsehole! And you know what? You're out of the bloody band! We don't need freaks like you who kidnap their bandmates!" 

Paul walked past Ringo and as he made an attempt to reach for the knob, a hand gripped tightly around his wrist and pinned it behind his back, making him cry out in pain.

"What the fuck!? Let me go!" 

"I really wanted to do this the easy way, y'know?" Ringo said, mimicking Paul's voice at the last word. To make his point clear, Ringo pressed the tent in his pants into Paul's arse and growled. Paul tried to push away, but with the angle of his arm, it was impossible to not get hurt. 

So he stood still, whimpering pathetically as his bandmate got himself off by rubbing on him.

Just as he had given up, he heard voices and a jingling of a key. Those voices..

John and George.

The door knob jingled and Ringo pulled Paul back so he wouldn't fall forward and run off.

Paul nearly cried in relief as George and John stopped in their tracks and saw the scene before them.

"Right, what's all this then?!" George shouted, causing Paul to sob as he broke away from a very startled Ringo.

"He..He tried to do things to me!" Paul exclaimed, running to John and trying to find comfort in his arms. John embraced him and snarled at Ringo.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are ya out of yer mind!?" John hollered, keeping Paul close into his chest.

"Why didn't you at least wait for us to come!?" 

Paul frowned and looked up at John. There was that twinkling in his eyes again..

"What..?" 

"Sorry, John. He's just such a pretty lad." Ringo replied casually.

"Just like a pretty little bird.." John whispered right into Paul's ear, making his skin crawl. 

He tried to break free from his grip, but he was too weak and he still felt disoriented..

"You can't run away, love." George said, suddenly by their side along with Ringo, who was on the opposite side of George.

Paul looked between them and let out a sob, knowing what they had in mind. 


	2. 2

"No need to cry, Paulie. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as we will, ain't that right, boys?" 

They all murmur in agreement as Paul writhes in John's arms, wanting to do something, wanting to bite his arm and make a run for it. But he knew he'd be outnumbered.

His friends..

"Why..Why Johnny..?" Paul gently weeped, choking back a sob.

"Because we very much love you, Paul." His voice sang sickly sweet, emitting Paul out of his trance and furiously kicking, punching, doing anything to get away!

He pinched underneath John's arm and he yelped in surprise, throwing his hands up in the process.

This was his chance!

Paul dodged George's and Ringo's incoming grip and made a beeline for the restroom, knowing well that going after the locked front door would only waste his time and get him caught.

He locked the door as quickly as he could and leaned against it, heavy breaths coming in and out of his body from both the run and the adrenaline. 

He had to get away from here.

Paul examined the bathroom cautiously and nearly cried when he saw a window above the toilet. He could actually escape!

He climbed the toilet, not giving a shit if the ceramic broke underneath his boots. Right now, his life was on the line.

Paul's heart dropped when he peaked his head out and looked down. He was on the third floor! 

A cry of frustration erupted from him and he looked around the small room for any sort of materials that would help him. He eyed the towels. Maybe he could make a sort of towel rope to climb down?

No, there isn't even enough to make it out the window. 

His thoughts went over to the sheets from the other room, but no way in hell was he going back out there, knowing those sick bastards would get their way with him.

But he really needed to get the fuck out of here..

Paul thought hard for a while, and was abruptly broken from his thoughts when the doorknob began to jiggle, sending spikes of fear piercing through his stomach. 

"C'mon, Paulie. Let's have a talk, yeah?"

It was John.

"Get the fuck away from me, you fucker! As soon as I get out of here I'm going to call the coppers on you!" 

Paul huffed when John let out a chuckle.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Paul.."

Dread suddenly hung in the atmosphere, goosebumps decorating Paul's entire body. 

"How do you know I wouldn't do that?!" 

"Do you really think they'd believe a little _queer_ like you? You really think they'll buy your story when you tell them you fucked three of yer friends? Hmm?" 

Paul's heart dropped. 

He wished John hadn't been right. Who would believe anything like that? People already speculate he's having a relationship with John, but Paul confirming it to the police? That would spread like wildfire among their fans. And worse.

Paul could get killed for this.

He swallowed hard and clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. 

"See? You know I'm right. That's what's going on in that pretty little head of yers." 

Dreadful silence rose in the room, but John spoke again with a hushed tone.

"You can't escape, Paulie. Just come out whenever you're ready, yeah?" And with that, John's footsteps faded to the other side of the bedroom.

He couldn't help the tears that spilled from his eyes. Was this not the right time to cry? When your _friends_ have you locked up in a motel room with no escape other than unwillingly have sex with them..?

He sobbed, letting the breeze from the open window to dry his tears. 

He rather liked the idea of jumping off right now.

After what seemed like hours (really it was only 10 minutes), the doorknob jiggled again, and this time, he heard a bold _click._

_Oh shit._

It was George who walked in, eyes trained on Paul. 

Paul lunged at him without warning, earning a shocked yell and they both fell to the ground.

"You fucker! Motherfucker!" Paul beat at whatever he could hit with such strength he didn't even know he had. The other cried with each blow and swatted his arms at Paul, which had no effect on him. 

Just as he thought he had this, a strong pair of hands grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up. Paul screamed, thrashing like he had in John's arms and hitting at anything and anyone.

But yet another pair of hands came from behind and wrestled to keep his feverish hands under control. 

"Let me go! Let me fucking go!" He wailed, unheard.

"We really wanted to do this the easy way, love! But now you've really pissed me off!" John roughly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and tossed him onto the squeaky and most likely dirty matress. And when Paul tried to roll off the bed and make a run for it, he only managed to flip himself on his stomach and get trapped between John's arms again. 

_This is it._

_They've got me._

A hand harshly pulled at his hair and forced him to look up, hot breaths falling down his neck.

"You're such a rowdy little fucker, y'know that?! I'll be sure to teach you a lesson." John's free hand began to roam through Paul's shaking figure, buttons flying when he ripped open the shirt he was wearing. His tie was discarded and hands traced little figures around his exposed back, causing Paul to shiver and hum uncomfortably. He traced a finger down his back and stopped at the rim of his pants.

Ringo went to go reach for a gag laying by the dresser, but John stopped him. "No need for that, Rings." He said in a stern voice, making Ringo back off and go back to watching the scene unfold along with a bruised George.

The moment John began to undo his trousers, Paul broke into another fit. With a little bend and push of his arm, Paul settled back down and silently cried against the dirty sheets. 

The sound of an unbuckling belt made him jump into action once more, trying to drag himself away and clawing at the matress in another pathetic attempt to flee. His arm was once again bent harshly, making him stop his movements and cry out in pain.

John giggled all too comically for this situation.

"Be a good boy, will ya? Just relax and enjoy it."

With that said, John pulled Paul's pants with a flick of the wrist, exposing his arse to the cold air. Paul cried out, pleading for John to stop.

"Please...Please John, why are you doing this..?"

His entire body shook in fear when his mate spit and Paul heard a small rhythmic squelching sound. Then, he felt a pressure on his asshole, forcing him to thrash around, flailing his only good arm and trying to swat at John.

But the worst of it came when the head of John's dick popped inside him. Paul's never felt such utter pain. It felt like a dagger was being forced in his ass as John buried himself _deep_ inside Paul. He wanted to scream, but the other was quick to clamp his hand over Paul's open mouth. Only a muffled shriek emptied from the unwilling Beatle, his once dry cheeks tainted once more with salty droplets of pain. Paul's movements became erratic as John pushed further in, stretching him beyond from what Paul could handle. His hand clenched so tightly onto the sheets that he could feel his nails digging into his palm through the thin fabric.

"John! You're hurting me!" Paul tried to yell, but his cries came out in garbled and hushed hums.

Somehow, John understood.

"Oh my pretty, but look how good you look around me cock.." Paul felt something wet and warm slid against his face, lapping at his tears, then inching away in disgust at John's breathe that reeked of cigarettes and booze.

When Paul thought it couldn't get any worse, John signalled for Ringo to step in.

"Me hand's gettin' tired. Take that lovely little mouth of his, will ya?"

Paul was then forced to get on his knees, arms immediately tied with some sort of fabric that he assumed was his tie. As soon as his wrists were bound, John pulled out and slammed back in, giving no chance for the unwilling Paul to adjust. As soon as Paul opened his lips to scream, Ringo's cock hit the back of his throat in a swift motion. The smaller one gagged and struggled, new tears prickling and pouring out of his eyes as both of his holes were being slammed into.

"Look at him, Paulie" His hair was painfully pulled back and he was forced to look up at Ringo. "Look at how good you're making 'im feel. Look how good you make us feel."

Paul sobbed, trying to pull his entire body away from the cock in his ass, only succeeding in taking in more of Ringo, jaw aching enough already.

"Oh, thas it, love." Ringo sighed, burying himself deeper into Paul's deliciously hot and damp mouth.

Their movements increased in speed, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along with their grunts and Paul's painful whimpers.

He felt John's movements become erratic and with a few more harsh thrusts, he emptied himself into Paul's ass, sliding out with a satisfying _pop_.

Paul wondered if the stream running down his milky thighs was cum or blood.

Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to notice Ringo's own erratic movements. It was too late as his nose was flush against his wiry pubic hair, the cock in his throat pulsating as it shot it's load down Paul's throat, earning a gag of protest, but Ringo kept his head in place, making sure to feed Paul every last drop of him.

Finally, the girthy and moist cock slipped lewdly out from Paul's lips, forcing him to take deep breaths and cough harshly, making it hard as he was still crying.

A hand roughly grabbed at his aching jaw and forced him to hold his head up. He looked up at George pumping at his own cock, flinching when he finally reached climax and his load splattered gloriously over that pretty face of his. The cum got on his eyelashes, his cheeks, and all over those red, plump lips.

"Shit, Paul." Lennon held Paul's head up, back now flush against John's bare chest.

"Don't cry, my love. I told you you should've relaxed, would've made things much easier." 

John kissed and nipped at his neck, hands traveling down his chest and rubbing in circular motions at Paul's exposed buds. He freaked out and failed to pull himself away while John's tongue licked at the jizz on his face, much like a starved dog. 

"Stop! Please! Let me.. Just let me go home..home!"

His words faltered, earning cruel laughter from the other three.

"Paulie." John whispered, licking the shell of his ear.

"This is just the beginning of a very, _very_ long night."


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I just got my laptop home so expect more frequent updates! And beware, there are probably a million mistakes! Work is really kicking my ass right now..

His heart felt as if it was about to jump out of his chest more than it was already.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about..?" Paul asked daringly, a hint of fear not so subtle in his voice.

"We're gonna have some more fun, love!"

"What..? No.. No! Let me go, you sick bastard!" Paul screamed, wanting to do so until his throat bleed, but John was having none of that.

As he took another breath to call for help, something shut over his mouth. A silicone ball was lodged in between his teeth, a metal clasp buckling shut behind his head, making his jaw ache terribly. 

"Thas much better. Innit?" John asked, head turned to the other two, who nodded enthusiastically. "Get the ropes, will ya Georgie?" 

_Ropes..?_

George obediently shuffled through a duffel bag Paul didn't even notice was there. He pulled out what seemed like a mile's worth of rope from the bag, tossing it on the bed while John made sure to keep McCartney still.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure to teach ya the ropes." John snickered again, and Paul looked on with wide eyes, wondering how any of this was okay with John, or anybody really. 

He hadn't noticed he was crying until John cradled his face and wiped a tear with his thumb. He gave Paul a sympathetic look, but it meant nothing to Paul. The trust he had for any of them was long gone by now. 

Paul grunted in disapproval and jerked away from his hand. John's face darkened, shrugging and reaching down for the rope near Paul's head. He hesitated as John unraveled the rope with one hand, a distant look set on his face.

His arms were the first to be tied, much to Paul's dismay. Then, after Paul put up a fight over John taking off his shoes and pants, his legs were tied, forcing them to bend at the knee.

He felt extremely vulnerable now, completely self conscious of himself as he was put on display for his three bandmates. 

"What a pretty little thing.."

"Must've been real nice taking 'im, eh John?"

"Sure as hell was."

Paul squeezed his eyes shut as one of them reached down and inserted a finger inside his aching hole. He bit down, his teeth digging into the rubber and jaw tensing up, trying to wiggle away at the intrusion.

Who ever had touched him pulled away and something seeped from his abused entrance, making him cry in embarrassment. 

"Look how good you took me cum, love." John acknowledged, making sure to lick his finger free from any gunk.

Paul ignored whatever he was saying, instead focusing on a strange, but soft hum coming from what he assumed to be the closet. It sounded familiar, but Paul couldn’t wrap his head around whatever that noise was.

He tried blocking everything but that sound out until he felt something try to push its way into him again. He opened his eyes and craned his head to see what they were trying to do now..

He whimpered, and quite loudly at that.

Ringo was trying to push in some type of rubbery cock inside him!?

He gave out a muffled scream when the head of the toy slipped in, making him nauseous at the new pain. He pushed it deeper into Paul, and he tried his best to not tense up as it made everything worse.

"That's it, just relax." He heard Ringo say, slowly but surely pushing what was left of the toy into the warm spasming hole. Paul wanted to pass out right then and there. That was until whatever they shoved inside him clicked and started to vibrate.

His eyes grew wide like a deer in headlights at this new sensation. It still hurt like hell, but there was something that took the pain away….

Unfazed, Paul got to work on trying to set his wrists free as the other three became distracted with themselves, cocks stiffening at the sight of a wriggling Paul.

Thankfully, with each of Paul's movements, the vibrator discreetly slipped out little by little. That was until John pushed it _way_ deeper than it had been before. 

Paul's entire body shook and he _moaned_. 

The... _thing.._ had pushed right into his prostate and he couldn't help but freeze and enjoy this strange sensation. The fact that John pushed the toy harder into him made it impossible to keep his voice low, and much to his horror, it made his prick hard. He involuntarily bucked his hips against the toy.

" _Well, well, well._ Lookie at what we have here." John sang, beginning to pump the toy in and out of a shaking McCartney.

"Looks like Paulie's popped a stiffy!" He exclaimed, pushing the toy deep and holding it there, earning a delicious moan from Paul.

A hand wrapped at the base of his cock and squeezed, bringing him so close that it horrified him. 

These bastards were _harassing_ him.

And Paul was _enjoying_ it..?

What the hell is wrong with him..?

He cried out as his orgasm suddenly ripped through him rather quickly, doe eyes rolling to the back of his head instinctively, hips bucking as his cum splattered across his chest. His face grew red in shame and he began to cry again.

To make matters worse, the toy was pushed back deep inside him, his waves of post orgasm now becoming a numbing pain. 

Then he heard what sounded like tape.

The cold plastic was placed over his bum, and it took a moment for Paul to realize that they had taped the toy shut into his asshole, meaning that there was no chance for him to pull or push it out. He started to spasm violently in his bonds, now becoming a sobbing mess, tears and mucus running down the sides of his face.

"Alright, Paul. Don't you get in trouble, we'll be back in a jiffy. Lucky for you, Georgie will be here to take care of ya!" John playfully hit George on the shoulder, leaving with Ringo after whispering something into George's ear.

The door shut and everything (aside from the low humming in his ass) grew quiet.

Paul shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, trying to untie his hands forcefully but failing.

"Don't do that." He heard George say, setting himself down on the bed with Paul. "Wouldn't want ya to get hurt." 

"Mmph!" Paul wriggle away from George when he got a little too close to his face, hot breath tickling his sweaty neck.

"Listen closely, Paulie. I can get you out of here, but you gotta do _exactly_ as I say, got it?"

Paul froze, staring at a very serious George in a perplexed way. 

The gag in his mouth was slowly pulled out after George struggled a bit with the buckle, and Paul moved his jaw up and down and side to side in relief.

"How do I know I should trust you..?" Paul asked, unsure and timid.

"I wouldn't be helping you now, would I?"

He went to reach for the tape on his ass, but Paul shuffled away, back hitting the headboard. 

"I can do it myself. Just untie my hands.."

George looked around nervously before giving up and taking out his switchblade. Paul stiffened, but the ropes dropped with quick cuts.

He rubbed at his sore wrists, shaking and trying to remove the bonds on his knees.

"Let me do it." George pushed his hands away and with a few more flicks of the wrist, the ropes fell graciously on the bed.

Paul carefully reached over to his bum and ripped the tape off, relief washing over him as he carefully slipped the still vibrating toy out of himself.

He threw it across the room and began to cry for the millionth time that night, shaky hands pulling at his hair.

"Why…" He cried out, wiping his nose and eyes with the back of his hand. "Why me, George..? What did I do..?"

George gave no answer, and instead threw Paul some clothes he found in one of the dressers. 

"I'm sorry, Paul, really, but we have to go now."

Paul remained still for a while before breaking from his trance and unfolding the bundle of clothes. His brows furrowed. 

"Don't you've got anything else.. less revealing..?"

"It's all there is." George sighed.

Paul nodded, trying his best to slip off the bed. He managed to sit on the edge and slide the trousers and leather pants on, but hesitated to even look at the top. It was another leather article, like a vest, and Paul wasn't sure he wanted to go out like this.

Sighing in defeat, he slipped it on and closed it tightly against his chest. He walked over to the bathroom to take a look and George followed, leaning on the doorway.

"I look like a bloody queer." Paul mumbled, turning and looking over his outfit carefully, noticing metal clasps decorating the bottom of the pants.

"Come on, before they get back!" George interrupted, scaring Paul. 

"Right, just... let me get my shoes on." Paul hurried over to the bed and popped both boots on, deciding to take his mangled shirt with him and following a paranoid George out the door and into the hallway with difficulty. 

The ride down the elevator was awkward, with Paul shuffling and causing his clothes to squeak every two seconds. But he was thankful they didn't take three flights of stairs.

He slipped the leather vest off and slipped into him the shirt he was wearing earlier. It gave him some warmth, and slipping the vest back on added to it. 

_Why_..

_Why me..?_ Paul thought.

_Would this make me….queer?_

_What would everyone think?_

_Would George not talk to me anymore?_

_Would I get in trouble if I told on John and Ringo?_

_What's going to happen to me?_

_What should I do..?_

  
  


He jumped when the elevator dinged, breaking him from his thoughts. George got ahold of Paul's hand, much to his discomfort, and pulled him out of the lobby. The woman from earlier was nowhere in sight, just a magazine and a smoking fag in place where she was last seen.

It was cold outside, and the outfit Paul sported wasn't helping at all.

"Where are we even going?"

"Dunno. Anywhere."

His mind was racing with new thoughts.

_What if he tries something funny?_

He eyed George with careful eyes, watching as he looked from side to side, seeming to look for someone.

Paul waited for George to turn the other way before making a hazardous choice and running in the opposite direction. He tried his best to push the pain in his ass away, though his limp affected his strides.

By the time he turned the corner, he heard George call after him and Paul broke into another sprint, having no idea where he was headed.

_Just keep running._ He thought to himself. 

Late night walkers stared at him as he zoomed by, but Paul paid no mind to them. They would be doing the same if they were in his shoes.

He ran and ran, to where? Paul didn't know. As long as he got away from those sick bastards, he didn't care where he was running to.

Someone tackled him from behind and Paul screamed. His head hit the concrete hard and red substance splattered against it. The blood trickled out in such hazardous amounts that Paul was positive he had severely broken his nose.

He tried his best to look up, but his head felt too heavy. 

Why was the floor spinning..?

Paul managed to crane his neck and look at whoever was pushing down on him.

John, calm as ever, clicked his tongue. Paul groaned when his head was forced up, scalp aching as his hair was pulled back.

"I shoulda known better than to leave you with that prick." He whispered, digging his knee deeper into McCartney's back. The smaller one cried out and wriggled. "That's right. Keep squirming, ya fucking maggot."

"Please John! You're hurting me!" Paul croaked out, some blood making it's way past his lips. He was certain John was going to break his back.

As if by miracle, the knee on his back was lifted, but Paul wasn't prepared for John to drag him by his locks as Ringo had done before. His shoulder hit the ground painfully, groaning and backing up against the brick wall behind him, holding his still bleeding nose with frail hands in an attempt to stop the maroon stream.

A cold breeze ran through the abandoned alley, hitting Paul right across his exposed chest. He shivered, but not because of the cold, rather at the way John was gazing at him, a cold, distant fog in his eyes. 

"Red suits ya." 

"What the hell’s wrong with you?! Go fuck yourself, Lennon!" Paul retorted in disbelief , voice quivering in a nasal tone. 

Suddenly, John grasped at Paul's vest and pulled him up, forcing him to stand. John was much taller than him, giving him an intimidating aura that Paul had never experienced. He was still cupping his nose, fresh tears now mixing with the warm red liquid.

"Run that by me again and your nose won't be the only broken thing, ya hear me?" John- no. The man growled, face too close that Paul could smell the fresh cigarettes staining his tongue. John then reached into his pocket and harshly cleaned the blood off Paul's face, who grimaced at the harsh manhandling. 

This wasn't the John he knew. John would never act like this. John would never do this to him. 

John loved him.

And he loved John.

_What happened to him..?_

"Follow me. Try to run, and _I'll break yer leg_."

Paul stiffened, shaking like a leaf at John's threat. John grabbed his arm too hard, causing the smaller of the duo to wince but follow suit.

He kept his head low, getting harshly pulled when he tripped over his own feet. Through watery eyes, he could see a bright sign up ahead. It seemed like he was leading him back to the motel..

Paul knew he should try to run, but John was one who kept his word, especially if it was a threat.

He would for sure get a broken limb if he attempted to scurry off.

John swung the door open, having it bounce off the wall with a loud _thud._ The lady at the front desk was still gone, and her magazine and fag still sat there, untouched. John eyed the stick and took it in his own mouth, blowing the smoke out onto Paul, who turned his head and painfully scrunched his nose. John laughed, throwing the cancer stick behind him and easing his grip on Paul's arm. He pulled him close, the back of McCartney's thighs pressing against the front of the desk.

_There._

_That look in his eye again.._

Paul knew what John wanted to do, so he put his arms out in a defensive mode.

" _Please._ Not… Not again.."

But John was having none of that.

Instead, the taller, annoyed, turned Paul around and bent him over the desk.

His blood ran cold and he began to shake, memories of their recent activities flooding back.

Just as John was pulling apart the buttons on his pants, the entrance door opened, the small bell up top (that Paul hadn't even noticed) jingling merrily. Two figures came in, from what Paul could see. It was hard to look back when your head was smashed against a desk..

“Oi, you’ve found ‘im then?” John stopped his actions to talk to whoever this being was.

“Aye, he was ‘round a shop down the road. Surprised I even found ‘im.”

That was when Ringo stepped into view, clutching someone’s arm, but he could barely make them out from his position. The person groaned in pain at how harshly they were being manhandled.

“Come on then, let’s take ‘em back up, shall we?”

Paul was dragged by the hair, and it didn’t help that he kept tripping over his own feet, which only resulted in harder pulls. Paul finally gave in, setting himself still as to not anger John further. He curiously looked over at Ringo, who was tightly gripping the arm of a horribly beat up George.

Paul felt absolutely _sickened_. He could see bruises on his neck and face and a very dark mark around his left eye. His mouth was pooling with blood and dripping, staining his chest, which was tattered with even more marks. Paul cried, watching as his friend raggedly breathed, making quite an effort to keep himself awake.

“Oh George, what have they done to you!?” Paul sobbed loudly, not caring about the way his hair was pulled in order to remain silent.

The elevator ride going up was _dreadful_. A horrible atmosphere hung in the air along with his silent cries, becoming almost deafening if it weren’t for the low hum and machinery of the elevator. It was the longest minute of his life, and his stomach dropped when a ding rang through his ears, the doors sliding open. 

“Help!” Paul suddenly yelled, successfully struggling out of John’s powerful grip and making his way down the hall. He banged on the walls, the doors, anything to get people’s attention. There had to be someone, someone who could help him!

“Don’t bother McCartney, we’ve arranged this entire building just for us!” John clasped his hands together and grinned. “Is nice to have the whole place to ourselves with no annoying neighbors for once, aye?”

  
  


Paul backed away from the two men who began to make their way towards him. His adrenaline rose and he ran through the door closest to him, gasping when two pairs of hands pushed open the door he was trying so hard to close. 

“Stay away from me!” Paul screamed, earning a laugh from both of them.

He backed up enough to fall on what he guessed was the bed, crawling to the headboard as he had nowhere else to go.

The door was locked behind John, and Ringo threw an almost unconscious George on the bed with Paul.

Paul took the opportunity to check up on George as the other two talked amongst themselves.

He shook him lightly, a soft groan emitting from a terribly injured George.

“Oh _George..”_ Paul wept, delicately moving his gracious locks from his face. He saw a severe cut on his hairline, and covered his mouth in horror. Too much blood loss for such a lanky man..

“You’re gonna be fine, Georgie. You’re gonna be fine.” He whispered into his ear, his tears splattering against George’s chin. For once, Paul didn’t know if things were going to be alright. George wasn’t looking so great, his breaths becoming more ragged and longer as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He wept for his friend, not noticing John snapping his fingers in front of him.

“Hey! Earth to Paul! Fucking look at me, ya wanker!” 

He detached his eyes from George, glaring at the two men. 

“Rings, take Mister Harrison to the operating room, will ya? I need to have a small… _chat_ with Paul.”

Ringo complied and threw George over his shoulder with immense strength that Paul didn’t know he was capable of. The _operating_ _room_ was just the bathroom, where Paul assumed Ringo was going to try and patch him up. The door closed behind him, and he looked over at John, who was now at the foot of the bed, watching him.

“See those little hooks on the bedposts? Go on, have a gander.” John waved at the wooden posts, which indeed did have hooks.

“Now take a look at the metal clasps ‘round yer ankles.”

Paul froze, now realizing the intention of the heavy metal on him. 

“Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” John crossed his hands over his chest, patiently tapping his foot against the hardwood.

“Fuck. Off.” Paul spat, shaking in anger with balled fists. He wasn’t going to comply anymore, he wasn’t some kind of whore willing to go along with his sickening shit.

This, however, wasn’t the answer John was seeking.

A palm collided with the left side of McCartney’s face, a very shocked gasp emitting from him. He pushed his back hard against the headboard as John crawled over to him at inhuman speed. He got ahold of his legs and pulled him down, ankle clasps locking into place against his will. He tried to pull them away, but the restraints were quite sturdy. He swung his arms and tried his best to hit John, but only managed to hit him on the arm. Annoyed, John dug his nails into Paul’s wrists and tied them above his head, making sure to leave the knot _very_ tight, just to teach him a lesson. He sat firmly on his waist, pinning him down securely to avoid any type of movement.

He gave Paul another slap across the face, having him cry out in shock and pain. He bent down to his level and got ahold of his face, Paul’s lips pouting with John’s jarring hand. 

“From now on, you will do as I say, do I make myself clear, _James?”_

Paul shuddered, locking his fearful eyes with John’s own intense orbs.

“I said, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes… Yes, John..”

The grip on his jaw became unbearable and Paul cried out.

“Yes, _Sir.”_

“Yes, Sir.”

The hold loosened, but it was still there. John eventually let go, sitting up to watch him strangely. Paul only looked away.

“Now, let’s get down to business, aye?” 


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so sorry theres been no updates. But with quarantine, I hope I can write even more :)

George winced. The band around his head fit a little too tight, nevertheless, he sat patiently, watching Ringo wrap the bandage around his arm.

"Sorry ‘bout the bruises. I wanted it to look convincing. You really put up a great act out there too, I mean-"

“Is this really all necessary, Ritchie?”

Ringo looked up, his wrapping halting.

“Well, it’s the only thing thas gonna stop the bleeding-”

“Stop fucking around. You know what I mean.” George spat as he lurched forward, gasping as his little outburst caused a sudden pain in his neck.

“We really need this, George. He would have never agreed with the original plan anyway.” One, two more wraps and Ringo stood, placing the spare bandage roll on the bathroom counter.

“Just feel like… there was a better way to do all this, y’know?”

Ringo shook his head and fixed his clothes in the mirror, watching the way George eyed him in disbelief. He turned over to his beaten friend and gave him a look of sympathy, a firm, but gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Just for tonight. It’ll be like it never happened by tomorrow morning, he’ll be safe if John doesn’t take it too far.”

“Here’s to hoping.” George commented before Ringo left, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

_ How did he get himself into this mess..? _


	5. 5

"Oi, Ringy!" John called. Ringo made a face at the name, but went over to John anyway. It seemed like he already began his perverse acts on Paul, seeing how the lad shifted uncomfortably under John's rather rough touch. 

John took note of this. "Oh come off it,  _ Paulie _ . I know you like it." He whispered, hand travelling down to the tent on Paul's leather pants once more. He palmed, squeezed, stroked, all while the younger man pulled so hard on his restraints that Ringo was sure it would leave deep marks.

  
  


"Just can't believe I didn't take him sooner. Just look at how pretty he looks all tied up, as if he were  _ made _ for this!" John gave emphasis by giving Paul's cock a hard squeeze, making him yelp in surprise. "You love it when I do this, dontcha?"

Nothing.

"I asked you a question." John growled.

"Yes.. yes, sir."

Ringo raised his eyebrows. Seems like it didn't take long to break him..

"Yes  _ what _ ?"

"Yes, I love it when you…. when you  _ touch _ me,  _ sir. _ " Paul muttered shamefully, face fully red from the perverted talk and steamy touches.

"Thas right. See? Not so hard to obey, innit?" 

John rose from his position on top of Paul and walked over to a small drawer, where he pulled out.. what Paul assumed was another gag, judging by the two leather straps hanging from both sides of John's closed fist.

"Oh please, John-.. Sir, please not that." The restraints on his legs didn't allow him to move even an inch away, his attempts at ripping them off being futile.

But when John opened his palm, instead of a red bright rubbery ball, there sat a big round metal ring, held by two pieces of leather straps. Paul panicked, knowing exactly what it was for. He squealed as John neared, stomach flipping and heart pumping.

John took the device from his hand and looped it around Paul's head, wedging the ring in between his teeth, stretching his precious pink lips. Although it was a bit of trouble getting it on a very thrashy McCartney, it did suit him nicely.

"I wonder.." John muttered, tracing a delicate finger around Paul's exposed chest and drawing circles while lightly pinching at the hardened buds with his other hand.

"How many cocks fit in that little mouth of yers."

Paul's eyebrows furrowed, as he couldn't really move his mouth to express his extreme disapproval. 

"Please don't." Paul tried to say, which came out in gibberish and muffled nonsense. Instead, he shed fresh tears to get his anguish out, along with pulling on his straps furiously. John smiled that stupid smile of his, almost as if he were mocking him.

"You really need to understand that you can't go anywhere, Paulie. You're stuck in here with us unless you begin to obey our orders." Lennon's voice boomed threateningly. "So unless you want to end up with a broken leg like I’ve promised you before, I suggest you start behaving now."

He came closer to Paul and loomed over him, lips just barely touching the tip of his ear.

"You know very well that I keep my promises, Jamie."

_ Don't fucking call me that. _

“Okay, you guys. It’s time- Ringo, get George, will ya? I’ve got a feeling he’ll want in on this.”

Paul looked over John’s hips to see the bathroom door creak open after a while of Ringo gone, and a bandaged George followed him out, with what appeared to be a new mark on George's neck and a flushed face. He seemed quiet as he had before when he tried to help Paul escape, that same hint of dread still present in his eyes. Paul wondered what else Ringo had done to him in there.

Their eyes fell on Paul, watching from above with hunger, which was majorly John. He eyed Paul's body, like a starving vulture wanting to devour him whole in seconds, wanting to rip him apart, piece by piece until he was  _ nothing _ but bone.

"Are ya sure that  _ thing's _ gonna hold up?" Ringo motioned to the ring inside Paul's mouth that was already wet with saliva. 

"'M pretty sure. Looked sturdy." John said, nodding at Ringo and then going for his zipper. "Right then. Let's get this on, aye? The night is still young.." 

"If ya don't mind, I'll gladly take that lovely arse of his-" Ringo's hand nearly touched his body, making Paul inch away, but it was abruptly pulled away by John.

"Aye, I actually had this brilliant idea to stuff Macca's mouth first, see how much he can take." 

George gasped, but only Paul seemed to notice, along with the lack of any sort of intrigue in him. He looked rather nervous as well, trying to keep it together as best as he could.

Was he still on Paul's side..?

"Whaddya say, lads?" 

"I'm in."

"Well, you will be in a bit!" John snorted, and Ringo just rolled his eyes. 

"I want George to go first actually." John said suddenly. 

All three of them looked over at George, who had zoned back in at those words. "What?" 

"Let Paulie have a taste at ya. C'mon."

George was pushed onto Paul, forcing him to sit on his chest. With a swift motion from John's helping hand, George's flaccid cock nearly came into contact with those pink lips.

"Doesn't it turn you on, Georgie? Seeing your best mate tied up and ready to take anything you desire?" John whispered, lips tickling the shell of George's flushed ear. 

George remained quiet.

"We ain't got all day, son."

He mouthed something that Paul could make out as  _ 'I'm sorry',  _ before his limp dick was fully shoved inside the wet, slobbering entrance. George bent down, head crashing into the headboard as he bit back a small moan, of pain or pleasure, Paul didn't know. But what he did notice was George whispering something almost inaudible to him.

He tried to concentrate on what George was trying to tell him, but a hand snaking around his manhood kept breaking him away. Paul moaned when a hand wrapped itself around his cock, sending vibrations to George's own dick that made him instantly stiff.

" _ I'm sorry, Paul _ ." George finally spilled, quiet enough for only Paul's ears. Somehow, Paul forgave him.


End file.
